Ghosts in the Rain
by Delicious Mud Pie
Summary: Everyone always assumes that someone is crazy if they see something--a little out of the ordinary. VR Romance. Read it if ya feels like it. :p


**A/N: This is post the other fic I wrote (Start the Fire) but jumps right in to them going to college and rooming together. It's also not in chronological order—so it might be confusing. I really thought my writing style would change between my old pokemon fics and now. Guess it hasn't. . .**

**Also, I don't own the show, I don't even know where I'm going to be living in a month, let alone own a TV show. **

**Important: no this has nothing to do with Braniac. I like the Braniac fics, but this ain't one of them.**

_The boys huddled under the umbrella as Virgil's damp fingers fumbled uneasily with a sticker on a long, waxy ribbon. Richie had suggested that they wait until the rain had subsided, but it didn't seem like it was ever going to. He could hardly believe he was coherent enough to suggest that after—after what had just happened. The air was thick with moisture, but his mouth was dry and his tongue stuck like heated rubber to the roof of his mouth. _

_Virgil ran his fingers over the paper thoughtfully, and then used his raven-black jacket sleeve to try and wipe water off of the back window of the car. He said he was going to do this now, and he meant it. The droplets of rain mostly smeared around and didn't leave a dry surface at all, even though the umbrella was preventing further rain from landing upon the glass. Richie pulled some tissues out of his similarly ebony-colored jacket pocket and ended Virgil's frustration by wiping off the rain successfully._

_"Thanks—bro." Virgil's voice cracked as he spoke, and he stopped for a moment to pull his sleeve over his face and shut his eyes tightly. With one long sniff, he unfurled the ribbon and peeled off the sticker, careful not to let it stick to itself._

_Richie wasn't taking it as hard as Virgil was—he had other things on his mind that, sadly, superseded this tragedy— but his stomach still sank to his knees and waddled there as the sticker's message became visible across the back of the tan-colored Toyota Corolla. He had to stand firm however, for as soon as the deed was done Virgil turned to Richie and embraced him hard, letting himself cry harder than he had allowed himself to in the last hour. Richie sighed and stroked his hair—which he was unable to do before because of all the people around. They stood there like that for a good half hour—silent, shivering, and mourning. Their flesh was icing over a little in the sleetish-rain, and the surrounding grass appeared a deep, deep green without any sunlight poking through the grayness to illuminate them. Richie's eyes and mind turned to all these things—the swarm of shuffling legs underneath black umbrellas in the distance—the scent of wet grass and flowers hanging on the mist—anything. But when Virgil was finally ready to go and signaled it by looking up and nodding, Richie looked at the white calligraphy scrawled against the window that would be forever replaced when faded._

_In Loving Memory. . ._

**Ghosts in the Rain Part One**

**Misgivings**

Richie winced as the needle went into his upper arm, not so much from the pain—more so from his rejection of the idea that he even needed this particular injection. He would have argued, but Virgil seemed to think he needed it, so he just accepted it. He couldn't have been rushed there in an ambulance and have nothing to show for it—even if all he had was a Scooby Doo band aid over a small pin-prick.

"You _did_ need this," the doctor reaffirmed, sensing Richie's defiance. "Your heart rate was approaching a dangerous level."

Richie didn't know why his heart rate quickened _after _a multitude of tests were conducted on him, but he didn't really know why much of anything was going on at that time. Well, maybe he had an idea. It was probably the silence he was receiving from Virgil—the silence, and the injured looks. How could he defend himself against something he had _no control over_? The doctor said his problem was looking like anxiety of some sort, and this wasn't helping.

He was thankful for the doctor's note to stay home from class for the next week. It was probably excessive, but there was _something_ definitely wrong, and having a panic attack in class wasn't going to help anything.

"I'm going to let that take effect for a minute," the doctor looked at her watch. "I'll be back with a few prescriptions I want you to take, and I'll explain them to you." She left the room without even pausing to let Richie speak, but that was okay with him. He'd had enough of doctors and hospitals both for the time being.

Virgil looked at the ground a moment, but Richie knew exactly what was going through his mind.

"You can't blame me for this." Richie pleaded. "I didn't want you to think I was crazy. But—I guess now since I'm pretty much certifiable, there's no use in pretending."

"Why—why _me_?" Was all Virgil could ask, while rubbing the left hand corner of his stomach lightly.

"I don't know," Richie sighed, sitting up in the hospital bed and grabbing the front of his hair in his hands in frustration.

"I _love _you, Richie," Virgil's voice became more desperate.

"Vee," Richie tried to grab Virgil's hand and pull him closer, but Virgil was hesitant. "Please, I didn't _choose_ for it to be—this way—God, I wanted nothing more than to _be _with you when I came home, couldn't you tell that?"

Virgil let his guard down and stood next to the bed Richie was sitting on and put an arm around his shoulders. The tranquilizers Richie just received were being put to the test as he felt a drop of liquid roll down his neck onto his shirt collar.

"Please believe me," Richie whispered into Virgil's ear, then grasped him by the shoulders to make him see eye to eye. "_I love you too_, I still don't believe it was in my head—is it so impossible that this isn't something I have _any _control of at all?"

Virgil tried to think of something to say, but couldn't.

"I don't know why it would be about you all the sudden," Richie continued. "It was always just the _ghosts_ before—"

Virgil kissed Richie to reassure him, realizing that now was not the time to put added pressure on Richie on top of his becoming pretty much schizophrenic. Richie _couldn't _really be seeing ghosts, anyway. If he only saw those that died before—what did it mean that he was having images of Virgil now? No, there was no such thing as ghosts, or omens, or anything like that. Having to go to so many funerals all at once was just too much for Richie. The break and the meds would alleviate the problem, Virgil was sure of it.

"I just wish I knew what they wanted, you know?" Richie said into Virgil's shoulder.

Virgil winced. He was hoping that Richie would realize he just needed a break. "Bro, I really don't think—"

"It wasn't a dreamit was _tangible—_ you don't understand." Richie would not let Virgil tell him what he had seen was in product of his mind. It wasn't, period. There was no way.

"You ever seen A Beautiful Mind?" Virgil treaded this territory lightly, not wanting to belittle Richie, but wanting to state his opinion at the same time.

Richie's face became bright red, and he furrowed his eyebrows in indignation. "Well hell then, how do I know _anything _is real? Maybe _you _are just imagining me and this whole hospital!"

Virgil scratched his forehead in frustration, but didn't have time to respond before the doctor returned once again.

"I'm going to make an appointment for you to see a counselor _as soon as possible_, today or tomorrow if there's any sort of opening at all." The doctor began. "In the mean time, I've prescribed you two anti-depressants. One is to take twice a day every day; the other is to take in situations when you feel like you are under particular distress."

Richie couldn't help but groan a little. He didn't feel like he needed anti-depressants, he wasn't depressed! He'd love to be able to turn everything off and go back to the way it was—

"Don't be ashamed of it," the doctor noticed Richie's reluctance to accept the medication. "It's not going to change who you are, and it doesn't mean you're crazy—millions of Americans take them, they just fix chemical imbalances."

Richie closed his eyes and nodded in defeat.

"It's okay Richie," Virgil squeezed his hand. "It will help you. I think this time off and this prescription will help you."

"Well, it's worth a shot." Richie shrugged as the doctor handed him the paper with the indiscernible prescription scrawled onto it. How pharmacists read those things he would never know.

_Worth a shot. But it wouldn't work. The ghosts were real._

**Visions**

_A bit earlier. . ._

Richie silently treaded the cheap, lint-ball saturated carpet of the studio apartment, not allowing his prey to become aware of his presence. He put his backpack down quietly in one corner of the room after shutting the door silently. He placed his fingertips lightly at the top of the sofa, grinning in self-satisfaction as he skillfully hid. He peered over the top of the sofa, remaining unnoticed. He shifted his center of gravity in his legs in preparation for the strike.

His leap was propelled by his arms, and he forcefully released a mighty battle shout as he landed on top of his nearly-dozing roommate with a thud. Virgil had been studying, quietly curled up with a biology book and a blankie, but it was not to last.

"Your clothes are soaked!" Virgil complained loudly as fresh-smelling rain still hung on Richie's shirt and jeans. Virgil jumped a little in shock, and then continued, "and your feet are _frozen_!"

Richie tore the book from Virgil's grasp and flung it into a corner. "You can fix both of those problems," he replied. He then crawled under the blanket and put his arms around Virgil's neck and began kissing it voraciously, as if he had just come home from a war.

Virgil leaned his head back in enjoyment for a moment, but sighed and grasped Richie's wandering hands in is own. "Just because it only takes _you_ two minutes to study for an entire quarter's worth of classes doesn't mean that _I _can do the same thing."

"You just looked so bored," Richie defended his actions with a pout, and pleading eyes to let Virgil know he really, _really_ needed some attention at that moment. "You might be able to concentrate better after a little break." Richie tried to pry off Virgil's shirt with his hands and mouth as he spoke, and Virgil gave in after a few moments of feigned resistance.

"I guess a little break couldn't hurt," Virgil sighed and smiled, and began to work on Richie's shirt. "But if I fail the midterm, it's all on you."

Richie looked up from where he was lightly kissing Virgil's collar bone and stroked his lover's hair reassuringly. "Don't worry Vee—I'll just create a robot that looks like you to take the test for you."

"Excellent!" Virgil grinned and said in an evil-henchman-type voice. "My plan to seduce you and get you to create a robot to do my homework has finally come to fruition!"

Richie laughed, and then looked at Virgil warmly. "It's really nice to see you smiling again, _really nice._"

Virgil's gaze became distant for a moment, and then he nodded sadly. "I guess I haven't felt much like smiling."

Richie put his hands on the corners of Virgil's mouth and forced a smile on his face. "You're so cute when you smile."

Virgil put his hands to Richie's mouth and stretched his lips as wide as he could. Richie responded by putting a finger between Virgil's lips and moved it up and down. Virgil made a buzzing noise as Richie did it, and then bit Richie's finger lightly. This led to a minute of giggling, then some more kissing and nuzzling.

Richie had had enough play and decided to let Virgil know the silliness was over with one finger trailing softly across his lips. Richie grabbed one of Virgil's hands and placed one finger in his mouth, sucking on it lightly.

"Mmm, you're frisky today," Virgil softly muttered, then took his free arm and embraced Richie forcefully, smiling and whispering unmentionable things into his ear.

Richie hummed to himself happily for a moment, and then gave Virgil a silly, sloppy kiss. Virgil laughed and reciprocated, although more softly. As their kissing became more passionate, Virgil slid his hands up Richie's back to his neck.

Richie shivered a bit as the touch tickled him a bit, but the ticklish sensation turned to panic as those caressing fingers pressed into his wind pipe forcefully, cutting off his airway. He grasped at Virgil's hands, trying to gasp for air, but he was unable to take any air into his closed off pipe.

Claw—he had to claw Virgil's hands—but—the pressure remained. Richie tried to get up. He was still unable to sit up, despite the flesh which was torn from his friend's hands. None Virgil's blood quickly saturating Richie's fingertips seemed to cause any pain at all. As Richie tried to sit up to pull away a second time, Virgil sat up along with him, retaining his neck between squeezing fingers. Richie looked down at Virgil, spots forming in his eyes.

"Why?" He mouthed, no sound able to escape his lips.

Virgil didn't answer. He instead lifted Richie haplessly by the neck. Richie didn't think Virgil was that strong—was this some kind of doppelganger? Was he—possessed by—_them?_ It had to be—but they never seemed to want to hurt Richie.

Richie kicked in the air as Virgil walked over to the television with him. Richie's ability to fight was quickly waning, but he still tensed as he was slammed into the TV set. Its glass portion shattered from the force of his impact, and then he was thrown onto the floor, but not before slamming against the side of the coffee table before falling over.

He began to gasp for air—coughing and desperately trying to fill his lungs and his blood stream with oxygen. It had never tasted as good as it did at that point, and the bliss of it overcame his breaks and bruises from being thrown around.

Virgil walked over and sat next to him, as if he were sitting next to a work bench, or as if Richie were a new toy that needed to be played with—to see just what its limits were.

Richie tried to get up by his arms, but was shoved back down with a swift elbow between his shoulder blades. He was winded, and once again couldn't breathe. Virgil systematically placed Richie in a headlock and twisted his neck slightly to the right, as if winding it up for a quick snap in the other direction.

"Why," he tried to shout while losing consciousness—which was a good thing as he didn't want to witness his own neck being snapped, but it came out as a wheeze. "Who are—?"

He couldn't finish his question though; he could no longer stay awake. His departure from the waking world was short lived, however, as a jolt of electricity coursed through his body and woke him immediately. It was a small, gentle shock—assuming an electric current could be gentle. But that was the feeling he got from it.

His eyes slowly opened, and he was greeted by the same person who had just tried to kill him looking over him while he lied on the sofa. Virgil was holding the phone with a shoulder and caressing Richie's face with both hands.

"Richie!" Virgil muted the phone and pulled Richie up from where he was lying on the sofa, clearing a space for himself and pulling his bewildered friend into his arms. He practically smothered Richie, rocking him back and forth. "You're awake! You're awake—oh I didn't want to shock you like that—but when you stopped flailing—I kind of panicked—" He pulled Richie to him even more tightly, "God—I was scared."

Richie felt his throat, as all pain had disappeared from it. He gingerly moved his arms and legs—and found that they too were unharmed. His breathing quickened and he tried desperately to assess what could have just happened. "What happened?" He asked faintly.

"We were just—kissing—" Virgil replied, then kissed Richie on top of the head as if saying the word prompted him to do so. "And you fell to the floor, eyes wide open and—it was almost like you were having a seizure—but you were just grabbing at your throat like it was closing up—I called 911, but then you stopped, and just started convulsing—but then you stopped doing that too—"

"That wasn't a dream!" Richie piled his face into Virgil's chest. "I know what it feels like to dream and to wake up from one— and that—Vee, you started choking me, I thought I was gonna die—" Richie felt some bile well up in his throat, as the thought was making him feel ill.

He couldn't finish his sentence, and Virgil began to stroke his hair. "It's all right baby," Virgil assured best he could, but couldn't hide the distress and injury in his voice, "I wouldn't hurt you. It _was_ just a dream."

Richie shook his head against Virgil's chest. "It's like—I can still feel your arm against my neck—you don't feel things in dreams like that—I don't feel like I woke up—it's not even like I left this same reality."

Their moment, however, was interrupted by ambulance sirens, and a pounding at the door.

_This shouldn't have happened—it needed to be a secret until he could find out just what was going on. . ._

**Apparitions**

_A little less than an hour earlier_

It was miserable being in class when it was raining outside. The class was semi-interesting—he had to put some thought into interpretation of literature. He couldn't just memorize and regurgitate information for that particular class. But still, all the rain did was make him want to go home and curl up under a blanket. The skies were gray, everything was soggy, no one had showed up to class anyway, and no one that did could pay attention. The teacher got sick of it and let everyone out early.

"Thank God," Richie muttered under his breath as he slung his backpack over his shoulders and pulled his jacket hood over his head. It was a particularly wet September, which made for lots of fun walking back to the apartment. He and Virgil were going to have to replace the welcome mat once a week if it kept up, as it was quickly becoming saturated in mud. The landlord wasn't even smart enough to turn the sprinklers off for the time, so their lawn had become a black and green soup. But that was something to look forward to in a few minutes.

Richie jogged a little across campus, not desiring to stay in the rain longer than he had to. The sun was going to set soon and the bit of light inundating the clouds and casting a gray haze over the campus would be gone. Sure, there were street lamps, but walking in the rain in the dark was just exponentially worse.

A cold breeze chilled Richie—which was strange, since the rain had not been accompanied by wind at that point. He grasped his arms and walked a little faster—maybe winding himself would bring warmth.

The chill grew stronger, and he dared not look up. _Not again_, he thought, but continued walking, deciding the wind was nothing more than a product of the odd weather as of late.

A foreign feeling of dread pushed into Richie's mind, and Richie groaned in anticipation of what kinds of things were about to happen. Wind began to kick up around him, although all the other wandering students were unfazed by it. It pushed him onto his knees, but he still refused to look up.

The order to run was issued in Richie's head. It wasn't stated in words—there were never words when this happened. Just a feeling or a desire would overcome him, but he knew it wasn't his own desire, that it was something planted there. He also always got the impression that the planted feelings were _instructing_ him, and this time it ordered him to run.

"To where?" Richie asked the air, causing a few stares to wander in his direction, although the distraction of the rain kept anyone from really having too much concern for the guy grabbing his ears and sitting on his knees.

"_Leave!"_ The voices echoed some more, a greater tinge of desperation upon them this time. The winds were pretty much pinning Richie in place though, so it's not as if he could follow those orders. They whipped around him, like boulders slapping down onto him keeping him from getting up.

More and more indiscernible words flooded Richie's mind, with more and more panic creeping into them. Against his better judgment he decided to look up. He already knew what he would see, so there was no point, but he did it anyway.

The rain seemed to pour through and onto the glistening pink specters—there always seemed to be more apparitions each time they appeared as well. They all seemed to be grabbing at him—but only one ever seemed to have a real cognizance beyond pure desperation and begging. The first one he ever saw. The one he believed to be the spirit of Daisy.

"Tell me what you need from me," Richie begged her. "You're not helping by doing this! Just tell me what to do and I'll do it!"

But the ghosts didn't seem able to do anything flood his mind with emotions. Emotions—aside from the orders, mostly fear and panic, although sometimes determination. However, it always ended the same way—he'd feel their panic, and then he would start panicking himself. He closed his eyes tightly and put his hands over his mouth to keep himself from screaming and embarrassing himself. Maybe he could scream silently into his hands—

Maybe he could do that, but a light tap on his shoulder released any modicum of restraint he had managed to grasp at at that moment. The winds grew more forceful as he fell to the ground and screamed while covering his ears. The person that had tapped his shoulder stepped back in shock—and his poltergeists and their wind disappeared in an instant. His feeling of dread disappeared as instantly. His breath remained fast and shallow and his heart had not slowed, but he opened his tightly closed eyes to see rain falling all around him except in his face—followed by noticing white and purple tennis shoes with long, muddied pants falling around them. The knees in the pants bent down, and a shaky hand was placed on his shoulder once again.

"You—you need help getting to a doctor?" The owner of the shoes asked.

Richie sat up in a daze, shaking his head lightly to free it of preoccupations, and to formulate a response to this question.

"I don't live very far," he cleared his throat, noticing that his entire left side was drenched in rain from where he had been lying on the ground. "I—I'm fine—I just need to get home."

"Dude you don't have to act tough," the person seemed frantic in trying to convince Richie that he was not okay. "You don't want that to happen when you're on the road!"

"I walk home," Richie frowned, putting his hands on the cold, wet cement and lifting himself to a standing position. The girl who had snapped him from—wherever it is he was—tried to offer a hand as she shifted her weight off her knees to get up herself, but he didn't accept her help. He had to think of a reason why he was freaking out, yet didn't need to seek any kind of help. "I'm okay—really—it's just that some friends of mine have died recently and I just—"

The girl nodded and gripped his shoulder firmly, keeping her umbrella over him all the while. "I heard about that on the news—I'm not from around here, but that must suck. I don't know how I'd take it if something like that happened to people I know. God listen to me, I'm such an idiot. Probably making you feel worse—"

"No, I'm all right," Richie assured, and began to walk away. "Thanks for helping me out."

"Need me to walk home with you?"

"No thanks. I'll be all right now. Really, I will."

Richie took a deep breath and walked away from campus, quickly. He just wanted to go home. Home was safe. Being with Virgil for a while would definitely make him feel better, as long as he could keep himself from falling asleep. He was too weak at the moment to worry about that. He just needed some comfort. He would cross the night equals sleep bridge when he came to it.

_Get a grip, Richie,_ he ordered himself. _It isn't like you live on Elm Street or something. . ._

**Missing Corpses**

_Three nights before. . ._

_The thrown can of soda was frozen in mid-air, and its intended recipient hadn't even looked backwards. _

_"I don't know how you do that," Richie laughed as Virgil used a strand of electricity to pull the soda can into his hands. _

_"I'm sparky **and** psychic," Virgil smirked, then popped the can open._

_"Psychic, eh?" Richie scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Then what am I thinking right now?"_

_"That you wish you could be as cool as me." Virgil zapped Richie in the butt. "Smartass."_

_"Well it smarts now!" Richie pouted, rubbing his shocked cheek dramatically. "What are you watchin' anyway?"_

_"News is just about over." Virgil replied between sips of soda. "Then we get to watch the Apprentice."_

_"God, I don't know how you can stand looking at that rat's nest on Trump's head for an hour and a half." Richie curled his lip in feigned disgust. "Anything good on the news?"_

_"I just turned it on Turbo!" Virgil replied, and then proceeded to turn up the volume so they could hear what it was about._

_"Wait—isn't Will and Grace usually on before—" Richie began to question why the news was on at a strange time, but became too interested in what was being said. It was in the middle of the broadcast, but it was easy to piece together what had happened. Five metahumans were discovered to have died in the past week when receiving the cure. The normal cure hadn't worked on them, so they were given a new cure that was supposed to work specifically for them—and instead it resulted in these metahumans to essentially evaporate into thin air—as noted by security footage in the lab. The man who administered the cure tried to hide the fact, and now was a fugitive from the law._

_Virgil scooted closer to Richie and grabbed his hand. "I wonder why they wanted to get rid of their powers so bad?" _

_"Maybe they were giants and covered in warts?" Richie frowned, feeling his joke was inappropriate and out of place after saying it. _

_"They looked pretty normal to me," Virgil frowned back, while watching the footage as it was displayed again. _

_"Yeah, you're right," Richie agreed. "Vaporized. . ."_

_It would be really hard to get into the Apprentice episode after this—if it ever came on at all. Richie almost felt a little guilty—as if he and Virgil were cheating somehow by using his cure—but it was a silly thought and he dismissed it quickly._

_Virgil continued to drink his soda and stare—wondering if they would ever name the people that died. Not that he thought he'd know any of them, but he just needed to know for sure, to be safe. His watching was interrupted, however, by the phone ringing. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound since he had been watching the TV so intently. He spilled soda all over his shirt._

_"Oh, damn," he growled, and looked at Richie helplessly._

_"I'll get it." Richie smirked, glad to take his mind off of ugly news for the time being. "You clean up." _

_Richie hopped off the sofa and skipped over to the phone, flicking it out of the cradle and pressing it to his ear. "Domino's Pizza," he said energetically. "Juuuust kidding."_

_Virgil got up and grabbed some paper towels out of the kitchen and began blotting them on his shirt. _

_Go change! Richie mouthed at him with a puzzled look while listening on the other end of the line. "Yeah, we're watching it." Pause. "Yeah it is sad—" Pause. "What?" Long pause. "No, we totally missed that part I guess." Pause. "Oh, no." Silence. "Yeah, I'll tell him." His voice cracked lightly. "You too." Pause. "B-bye."_

_Richie held the phone under his chin for a moment while staring into space as Virgil took off his shirt and tossed it into a corner. He became startled out of his staring as the busy signal began twanging loudly into his ear, and he quickly hung the phone up._

_"What's up?" Virgil asked in a fairly non-chalant manner, although he had a pretty good idea that what was up was not going to be good. _

_Richie walked over to Virgil and put his hands on Virgil's shoulders. He didn't really know how to tell Virgil the message he had promised to relay. "Vee, um, your sister called—she heard the names of the people who died on the news—we missed it."_

_Virgil's mouth suddenly became devoid of all moisture._

_"I don't know how this is possible—but Daisy was one of them."_

Thinking about when he found out—Virgil shuddered. It just kept replaying over and over in his head—and sometimes he would change it, so that the phone call never happened—and they had caught the tail end of Will and Grace instead—and that the next weekend when he went home to say hi to his family he'd go to the mall with Richie and Daisy and get some pizza like they always did when coming home. Maybe if he kept thinking of it that way enough—he'd suddenly wake up and that is how it would be. He pulled his jacket more tightly around him, and leaned his head on his dad's shoulder. Richie was rubbing his other shoulder, as much to be a comfort as to nervously try to expunge the current circumstances from his own mind.

Richie kept looking around at everyone—they all seemed to be behaving as normal as one would expect at a funeral. He was about to jump out of his seat and make a commotion when he realized that no one else thought something was terribly wrong. There was no corpse, but there was _someone _peering in horror into the empty casket in which lots of Daisy's favorite things had been placed. Someone _behind_ the minister who was speaking about her life.

Someone who _no one else saw._

Richie's nervousness didn't go unnoticed. That someone peered into the group gathered to mourn the death, and made eye contact with Richie.

She noticed immediately that _he could see her_. Richie tried to sit still as what appeared to be an ethereal, lighted, pinkish figure come up to him and try to grab his shoulders, only to pass through them completely. A feeling of panic flooded his mind—although he could tell it was the panic of the specter, and so he wasn't panicked himself immediately. Well, any more panicked than one could reasonably expect to be by the ghost of the girl whose funeral he was attending trying desperately to grab his attention. The panic that flooded his head, however, was beyond what even that circumstance could have engendered. Did Daisy not know that she had died? Since when could Richie see ghosts?

The panic began to seep into him, and he took his hand off of Virgil's shoulder and pulled his jacket more tightly around himself. He tried to ignore it. Told himself he would discover just what was going on as soon as he got home. He tried to will this thought into the mind of Daisy's ghost, although apparently that psychic ability was only one-sided. He tried all these things—but just ended up falling to the floor onto his knees, covering his ears and whimpering as the waves of emotions which seemed to beg for help just kept coming.

He was pulled back up forcefully by Virgil, and the force of it helped pull him back to reality. Virgil must have just taken it to be a moment of realization about what really was going on, because instead of panicking himself, Virgil just embraced Richie for a moment, and then let him be.

Richie looked around, only to see the ghost fleeing the funeral.

If only she could have calmed down to let Richie figure out what was going on. . .

**Last 2 weeks of school here, so I won't be writing any more of this for at least that long. It probably sucked—but this is the same thing with most stuff I write—I have like 1000 things planned for it and the intro getting there is the most boring part. I tried to make it more interesting by writing it backwards—although the next parts won't be like that, although they will have flashbacks and stuff. . . and be better, and fit the Mystery part of the Mystery/Supernatural category better.  R&R, etc.**


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